The Definition of Insanity
by The Darkness Factor
Summary: ...is repeating the same action over and over again, while expecting different results. (Or: five times Bruce and Natasha almost ask each other out, and the one time that one of them does.)


**A/N:** For khaleesa over on Tumblr, for the Hulkwidow Exchange. I don't remember the exact prompt, but I believe it was something like, "Five times that Bruce and Natasha almost ask each other out." I hope it's to your satisfaction; it was certainly fun to write!

* * *

I.

It's not rocket science.

Natasha likes Bruce. She's fairly certain that he likes her as well. Maybe not 100 percent certain, but she is a spy. She's good at reading people. For anyone else, she would be completely sure. Bruce is a little bit more difficult to figure out, but the odds are still in her favor.

At the very least, he finds her attractive. She can work with that.

The problem is this: there's always a short lull in conversation between Bruce and Natasha, during which neither of them say anything or really look at each other (it helps that these conversations usually happen in the lab and Bruce can busy himself with trying not to set something on fire). They're the golden opportunity. She literally doesn't have a better time to just take a deep breath and plunge in head-first. So she opens her mouth, the words all lined up in her mind—

But. Well. Her voice box keeps malfunctioning. She probably just needs to buy a new one.

It's not fucking rocket science. So why does she feel the need to bang her head against the wall?

Steve, of course, finds this all hilarious.

"I don't know if you know how obvious you are," he begins, sitting next to her on a kitchen stool. And yes, maybe she's watching Bruce— who's across the room drinking a glass of wine and having an animated conversation with Jane and Tony about… constellations? Probably constellations — but she's not doing it in a creepy way. She shoots an irritated glare at Steve, who's wearing a shit-eating grin that she suspects he learned from her. She doesn't know if she should be proud or appalled.

"Do you really want to finish that sentence?" she asks.

"Probably not," Steve answers, then produces a bottle of vodka from nowhere. "Can I finish it now?"

"If you get me a glass, then maybe."

Steve, in spite of his surprising ability to be a devious asshole, still obeys orders from her, and so he pulls out a glass from the cabinet and pours enough for a shot. Natasha downs it at once, grimacing at the burn in her throat, and gestures for another.

"If you're trying to get me drunk enough to spill," she warns, "then it's not going to work. You should know better by now."

Steve raises an eyebrow. "Of course I know better. But I'm not above bribing you."

Natasha smacks his arm with the back of her hand. "Okay, Rogers. Regale me with how obvious I am."

"Well, aside from you mooning over him just now—"

"I don't moon."

"Uh-huh. Aside from that thing that you don't do, there's your guys' one-on-one movie nights, the time you spend in the lab talking to each other, the fact that he's the one you usually talk to after missions aside from Clint, the geeking out over tea, the—"

"It was an attempt to cultivate our friendship."

"Maybe it started that way," Steve admits. "But now? Do I need to set you two up?"

"I swear, Rogers—"

He raises both hands. "Like you said, I know better. Though I wouldn't mind a little revenge for all the pushing to go out with someone."

Natasha shrugs. He has a point there.

"So just ask him," Steve says. "If you're always saying it's so easy. He's definitely not against spending time with you, and you seem to be fond of him. It's not rocket science."

That phrase really, really needs to die.

Their conversation is cut off when Bruce wanders over, grinning at the pair of them. "I hope I'm not missing out on any gossip."

"Wouldn't dream of gossiping without you," Natasha says, and oh my god, she really _is_ that obvious. She takes a larger gulp of her vodka than necessary and almost chokes on it, but she manages to keep her face straight the entire time. Bruce must still notice something, because he gives her a concerned look, but she forces a smile that seems to put him at ease. Steve looks like he's either about to give birth to a kangaroo or die laughing, so it doesn't surprise her that he quickly excuses himself.

Bruce's peculiar look switches to watching Steve's retreating back. "Is he alright?"

 _He's getting his ass kicked later._ "He's fine."

Bruce shrugs. "Figured you would know. Listen, I wanted to talk about what you suggested the other day. Working on calming techniques, in case I lose it somehow."

Natasha sits up, feeling any residual annoyance towards Steve drain away. "Have you given it more thought?"

"It's been on my mind non-stop. I still don't really like it, but Tony agrees with you on this one, and I'm starting to run out of reasons to say no. You've said that you're going to use every safety measure we can think of, and I trust you. I think… maybe… it could work."

"Yeah?" Natasha draws a finger along the rim of her glass. "When do you want to start working on it?"

"As soon as possible."

That surprises her. She would have thought he wanted to think about it a little longer before they began any of the techniques Natasha has in mind, but it appears he just wants to jump right in. She's glad that he's agreed, but she's also a little put-out; any hopes of asking him to grab a coffee with her will have to be put on hold. She's not sure that she would want a relationship compromising this.

At that moment, a composed Steve walks back into the room, mouthing, "Go for it" at her. She deliberately doesn't make eye contact with him, pretending to think about the answer to Bruce's question.

Screw it.

"Thursday?" she asks. "I have a few things to take care of today and tomorrow, but I have nothing to do then."

"Sounds good."

Bruce doesn't need to know that one of the things that she's planning on doing tomorrow is ask him out. Tomorrow, after they get back from their Hydra base raid, the first thing she'll do is go see him and ask him to grab a coffee with her on Friday. Nothing pressuring, just something with the offering of more. She breathes a bit easier now that she has a plan.

Bruce, oblivious to her decision, wanders back to Tony and Jane. Steve, sitting on the couch next to Sam, smirks at her.

She flips him off.

* * *

Natasha knocks the agent's gun arm aside, but the bullet still grazes the side of her head, making her hiss. She lunges for the window and crashes through it, shooting her grappling gun and managing to swing through another window on the first floor. The room that she ends up in is absent of more Hydra agents, but that's about the only thing she's got going for her right now.

She doesn't call out on the comms. Everyone except Thor, Bruce and herself has called out the code that means they were forced to surrender. She's not sure how they got Tony, but Clint is far from invincible and Steve isn't completely immune to tasers. She's going to have to work her way through the building and take out as many men as she can; it's her only option right now.

Thor hasn't called out an alert, but she's not sure what he's doing right now. Bruce is still back in the jet, a safe distance from this skirmish. They weren't expecting so many at what appeared to be a small base. They didn't factor into the base having so many tunnels underground. They connect with the sewer system in Berlin; no wonder Hydra was making so much use out of this place.

She alters her objective; she needs to find Thor.

Natasha keeps her head down, but apart from one or two Hydra agents (whom she dispatches before they can call out an alert to their friends) the halls are all but deserted. The Avengers decided that it would be best to enter on the upper floors, and that was where Hydra was waiting for them. That had been sloppy. They should have made some sort of back-up plan in case their first one went to shit.

She feels something drip down her chin and rubs at it, her fingers coming away bloody. Her lip has been split — badly — in addition to the bullet graze on the side of her head, and it isn't helping her concentration, which needs to be at 100 percent right now. There's still no sign of Thor, but there is a control room downstairs; she remembers that part from the schematics. Her alertness heightens when she finds that it's unguarded. It smells of a trap.

Natasha slips inside the door. Unsurprisingly, the chair in front of all of the monitors is occupied. What is surprising, however, is who it is.

"Bruce," she hisses. "What are you doing here?"

He jumps, but looks relieved to see her. "I figured you could use the help," he whispers. "And I can be sneaky when I want to."

"Clearly," mutters Natasha. "What happened to the guards?"

"They're in the cleaning closet."

It's so cliché that she almost laughs, but he's contributing in the best way that he can; she can't fault him for that. She'll have to ask him when he learned to infiltrate a high-security base (Bruce can be subtle, but he's not really spy material), but that's a question for a later time. For now, she hovers over his chair while he pulls up the security cameras. Steve, Clint and Tony — all being held in different locations — stick out like sore thumbs. Thor is still nowhere to be seen.

"What've we got?"

"Unfortunately, this group hasn't made the mistake of underestimating Captain America," Bruce answers. He points. Steve is upright, but upon looking closer, Natasha realizes that he's unconscious. "Whenever he shows signs of waking up, they put him under again. They got Tony's suit with an EMP, he's lucky he had the arc reactor removed— and Clint's been kept awake, but I think that they're starting to get sick of him mocking them, so I don't know how long that'll last."

"Why haven't they demanded that the rest of us surrender?"

"They'd have to tap into our communications," Bruce points out.

Natasha thought that Hydra already had tapped into their comms — hence why they were able to take down half of the team— but maybe all they really did was get lucky. If that's the case, then it's the Avengers' turn for luck this time. She turns her attention back to the monitors, her gaze fixing on Tony, who has some kind of clamp on the front of his suit (must be the EMP). He only has four guards on him. They'd need two more before it could be considered a fair fight.

"Alright," she said, checking both of her guns before handing one off to Bruce. "You know how to shoot?"

Bruce only nods. Another thing Natasha should probably ask him later.

She calculates what will be the least guarded route to get to Stark and follows it carefully, aware that the rest of the Hydra agents are probably fanning out through the rest of the building, trying to find the remaining Avengers. She and Bruce are forced to duck inside vacant rooms several times to avoid patrols; at one point, she even has to shove him behind a filing cabinet and hide under a desk. They don't have long; Hydra will soon figure out that they managed to break into one of the control rooms.

Tony's room is guarded by one man, and Natasha recognizes him from the cameras. That means there are only three in the room with Tony. All the better.

She puts the guard in a stranglehold, cutting off any noise he might have made. She doesn't budge until he slumps, then she dumps him unceremoniously on the ground. She's not feeling all that charitable today.

Natasha looks at Bruce, then gestures at the door with clear intent: _I'm going first._

He nods.

Kicking in the door is easy, as are the three successive shots to the head for the Hydra agents. None of them even have time to react; they all drop to the floor. Stark still lies motionless on the floor, so Natasha covers the door while Bruce works on removing the clamp from the Iron Man suit. After a few minutes of clanking and muffled swearing (Stark's still conscious, then) the EMP is sitting on the floor. The suit is still down, though. It needs a jumpstart.

Natasha is only too willing to provide that.

She stabs her Widow's Bite into the chest piece, causing Stark to yell. A moment later, his faceplate pops up.

"Do you usually use the full setting on guys you don't like?" he asks.

Natasha smiles sweetly. "Just you."

"Hooray for that." He nods at Bruce. "I see my mad scientist buddy came to save me. How did you convince him?"

"I didn't."

Bruce fidgets. "Cap and I have a deal. Sort of." Natasha and Stark both look at him. "If, uh, half the team goes down in a mission, then I'm supposed to go in. Whether or not I change into the Other Guy is up to me, though. Not that I'll have much of a choice, if I'm shot, but…"

"Bruce Banner, impromptu ninja," Tony says.

Natasha is impressed. She has no doubt that Bruce can be brave when he wants to be, but she would not have expected him to successfully infiltrate an enemy base all by his lonesome. Hell, even with someone else's help she would have guessed that it would be a challenge for him.

"We need to get to the others," she says, an authoritative tone creeping into her voice. "Stark, you can probably power through to get to Steve from here. Unless they've got another EMP?"

"Sir, they appear to have used their only one."

Tony points to his helmet. "You heard him."

"You'd better be right," Natasha warns. "We can't afford to have you out of commission again. Bruce, you and I will—"

The door to the room bursts open, followed by two Hydra agents. Natasha takes down one reflexively, while the other is stunned by one of Tony's weapons. She re-holsters her gun, about to continue with her instructions, but pauses when she sees a frozen look on Bruce's face. The moment of confusion turns into panic when she sees the red stain growing on his shirt.

"No," she says. "No, no, this isn't happening. Bruce…"

It's too late, though. He's already growing in size, and the moans of pain are becoming more guttural by the second. There's a green tinge to his skin that isn't going away anytime soon. Natasha is backing away already, shouting for Tony to get to Steve. A part of her is relieved; if he's transformed, he'll be healed. There's also the fact that he'll provide a marvelous distraction; security surrounding Steve and Clint will be minimal now.

She ducks around him while the Hulk is still disoriented, setting her jaw. She has a job to do.

* * *

It isn't until three days later, when Bruce is finally starting to look more like himself again, that she remembers her internal vow.

Well. That's hardly going to happen now, is it?

* * *

II.

Bruce considers himself to be content with unrequited crushes. He enjoys being able to admire from afar, to keep his quiet emotions to himself, simmering far below the surface. This time he has the added bonus (or curse) of somehow becoming the friend of said crush. It doesn't change the fact that it's never going to happen, but he still enjoys spending time with her. In a way, it makes him appreciate their friendship more.

Since there is no possibility of anything happening between them, things are simpler. Bruce can chat, work with, and even flirt with Natasha without worrying about the overarching repercussions of his actions because there is no way she's going to look at him any differently. He takes her secretive smiles and holds them a little too close to his heart, and at the end of the day there are more than a few occasions in which they're the last two awake, so deep in a conversation that time starts to fly past them.

Natasha is always punctual, so the concept of her losing track of time is alien— which means that she genuinely enjoys spending time with him. That concept in and of itself is unheard of, but Bruce is happy all the same.

Happy, that is, until his birthday.

It begins like any other day. Bruce wakes up with his glasses askew on his face. He makes himself a cup of tea and brings it to the lab in his thermos, where Tony is already awake (most likely he never left in the lab in the first place). Tony is so immersed in his project that he doesn't take notice of Bruce until seven, at which point he grumbles and puts on another pot of coffee.

Bruce sets his thermos on his lab table on the other side of the lab, narrowly avoiding a few sheets of paper that have important-looking blueprints on them, and then heads over to the coffee machine and switches it off.

Tony stares at him like he's grown a second head.

"You can either go to bed or I can call Pepper," Bruce says.

"No!" Tony shouts, then jumps, as though the sound of his own voice has scared him. Bruce can't remember if Tony slept the night before, either.

"No," Tony says, taking his volume down a notch. "Today's important, Bruce. Important. For reasons."

"You can barely string two sentences together."

Tony points a finger at him, opens his mouth, and then completely fails to speak.

The doors to the lab whoosh open and Natasha breezes in, looking like she just stepped out of a beauty salon. Confusion takes over exasperation because Natasha is about the polar opposite of a morning person, yet she looks relaxed and not-grumpy. She leans against one of the vacant lab tables.

"Morning, boys," she drawls. "You can sleep, Stark, I've got this."

Something must really, really be wrong, because Tony doesn't even argue— just stumbles through the lab doors and vanishes around a corner. Natasha's still leaning against the lab table, watching Bruce with her trademark smirk on her face. Bruce's anxiety only grows when he notices that her hands are behind her back.

Natasha sighs. "Bruce, I'm not here to arrest you. Not that I even have the authority for that anymore." She takes a few steps closer until they're only a foot away from one another, then produces a small box wrapped in neon purple giftwrap. There's even a little red bow on the top.

"Happy birthday, Bruce," she says, smiling more widely than he's ever seen.

It all goes downhill from there.

Okay, so it isn't that bad. Tony has been preparing an elaborate celebration for the last four days. The rest of the Avengers present him with various presents throughout the day, and Natasha has apparently dubbed herself his 'Birthday Buddy'. She explains that there had been plans for a piñata, but not a large party.

"I thought it was surprisingly considerate of Stark," she says to him while they're eating his cake (carrot cake; Steve baked it). "He understands your general dislike of large crowds."

Bruce laughs. "Didn't exactly stop him from dragging me along to his fundraiser last year."

"Oh, yeah? How'd that go? Pepper told me that some fun stuff went down."

Bruce tries to recall the story of the lost champagne flute, but he can only remember half the details. Natasha pats him on the back for trying.

Somewhere around two in the afternoon, Bruce is told (by J.A.R.V.I.S.) that he has the A.I.'s congratulations on reaching the age of 45. He thanks J.A.R.V.I.S., of course, but he's suddenly not too grateful for the reminder that he's starting to get old. He's already got some gray hairs (although those could be attributed to stress). Natasha laughs it off and punches him in the arm. "Don't look like your dog died. You've still got eons to go before you catch up to Steve."

Bruce nods, but he can't seem to shake the thought out of his head for the rest of the day.

Dinner turns out to be a potluck. The other Avengers (minus Tony, who knows how to build a toaster but not how to use one) have each made a dish of some kind. Barton makes a mean casserole. Thor proves to be competent at cooking a ham in the oven. Natasha serves mini-tacos to everyone, sniggering at Clint when he shoots her a dirty look.

"I've been pretending that I can't cook," she whispers to Bruce. "He's going to be pissed."

Tony even gets up in time to eat with them. He still looks like he needs sleep, but he's doing better.

The conversation isn't exactly subdued, but it isn't as lively as it has been on other occasions between the six of them. The food is delicious, though. Tony starts rambling about how he should've made something for Bruce as well, something that has Bruce coughing into his drink and assuring Tony that no, that isn't necessary. He's happy with the dishes that have already been served.

Natasha eats enough for two and then drops out of the conversation, watching the others with something like contentment in her gaze. Bruce can understand that— there's something very relaxing about being around people that accept you. He doesn't think he's been this comfortable around anyone since the accident, and he's prepared to call this a pretty damn good birthday.

"So, 45," Tony says, raising a glass. "You're certainly looking very distinguished for an older gentleman. I'm jealous."

Bruce ducks his head. Somehow, Tony's managed to spin that into a compliment. "Thanks."

Natasha seems to find the remark on Bruce's age hilarious, and starts to poke Steve in the arm. Steve levels her with a glare, but eventually gives up and opts to ignore her. Clint starts to snigger as well.

"Yeah," he chimes in. "A few more years and you'll almost be half Cap's age."

"Ha ha, Barton."

"Ooooh, look, he's vintage," Natasha says. "We could showcase him on Antiques Roadshow. We'd make a fortune."

Bruce grins. Steve starts firing back at Clint and Natasha, which devolves into a mock debate over philosophy, which then devolves into a real debate about whether or not chocolate can actually improve someone's mood. Natasha, Steve, and (surprisingly) Tony insist that it can. The rest of the table is skeptical.

Bruce manages to pull Natasha aside while everyone's still lounging around. She stops mid-laugh and waits for him to speak.

"I wanted to thank you," he tells her. "For… this. I mean, I know that Tony set it up and everything, but you were the one who really spent the whole day with me and, well— I know you didn't have to do that, but it was… you know. Nice."

"Anytime, Doc," Natasha answers. "Stark and I don't agree on much, but we both thought you could use a little birthday celebration."

"I'd like to be able to repay you at some point," Bruce says. "I'm… uh, wait. Actually, when's your birthday?"

The words are out of his mouth before he even realizes what he's said. Somewhere in his mind, even the Hulk is shaking his head. It's one of those moments when the rest of the room's occupants conveniently choose to stop talking, so everyone hears his idiotic question. Clint looks resigned. Tony looks interested.

"Yeah, Romanoff," he adds. "We'll buy you a cake shaped like a spider."

Bruce shoots Tony an _are-you-serious_ look, but Tony ignores him. Natasha and Tony had been willing to cooperate for his birthday, but apparently they can't do the same in any other scenario.

The calmest person in the room right now appears to be Natasha herself.

"I don't have a birthday."

"Right," Bruce says weakly. "Right, yeah, sorry. Stupid question. I just thought—"

"And it was the thought that counted, Dr. Banner," Natasha interrupts. She grabs her wine glass and heads out onto the roof, where the sun has painted the deck in oranges and purples. Clint follows a moment later; the two of them are leaning against the railing with their shoulders brushing, but there is no indication of what they're discussing (if they're even talking at all).

Bruce spends the rest of the night feeling like there's a stone lying in his stomach. He isn't enjoying himself anymore.

* * *

He takes the elevator down to the training room, a path that he hasn't often tread in the past. J.A.R.V.I.S. had told him that Natasha is having a go at the punching bag right now. Maybe it's not the best time, but Bruce won't be able to focus on anything else until he says what he needs to say to her— namely, an apology.

He walks in the door in time to see Natasha deliver a tremendous kick to the bag, almost (but not quite) sending it flying off of its hook. She waves a hand in greeting when he comes in.

"I'm about to go shower," she warns him. "What's up?"

Bruce takes a deep breath. "I wanted to—"

"You don't have to apologize."

Bruce falls silent. Of course she knows why he's here.

"It's okay." She shrugs, grabbing a towel from where it was sitting on the floor. "After I found out about how birthdays work, well… the day of my birth never really seemed like something I should be celebrating. Don't worry, Barton makes sure I hang out with him during Christmas. Unlimited refills of eggnog."

On some strange impulse, Bruce almost blurts out _Would you like to have dinner with me?_ because buying her dinner seems like a perfectly nice way to pay her back and _Oh my god, Banner, no, you're not supposed to be acting on your feelings with her and this is the worst possible time—_

"Have you ever considered that maybe there's another day you do want to celebrate?" Bruce suggests instead. He's slightly horrified that Natasha feels like the day she was born is some kind of awful event, but he's not going to question her. It's her choice. That doesn't mean that there isn't some day of the year that's meaningful to her.

The corner of Natasha's mouth lifts up. "Barton's brought up something like that before. I haven't been able to think of one yet, but if I do, I'll let you know."

"That's all I can ask."

Natasha walks out of the training room with him, sauntering off to the showers with another wave. Bruce forces himself not to stare after her. He's all too aware that he's not going to be able to get away with his crush from afar anymore— not after what almost just happened.

There's no way this can end well.

* * *

III.

Pepper is the one who brings up the idea on their lunch date.

Natasha hasn't been having a good week; she's been benched due to a broken wrist (if Bruce has noticed that it's healing a little faster than it should, he hasn't said a word), and as such is forced to take out her frustrations on either Maria, Bruce, or the woman who is sitting patiently across from her at this very moment.

Pepper has chosen their venue with that in mind: it's a high class grill with a lot of greasy food and a witty serving staff. Natasha is feeling more placated than normal now that she's finishing off a plate of fries. They're currently discussing the topic of Avengers' funding, because Tony knows a thing or two about what's going on, but Pepper's the one who does all of the legwork. She has the final say on every dollar that they spend on their save-the-world campaign, or whatever the hell Stark wants to call it these days.

"I'm planning on getting funding approved for arc reactor-powered batons," Pepper says. "The Widow's Bites were good, but Steve says you could use a little more reach."

Natasha has always been aware that Pepper can be dangerously pragmatic about the situations that the Avengers find themselves in, but if she hadn't, then she would've found out through this conversation. Pepper lists off the things that need resource allocations like she's reading the itinerary for a family vacation. Natasha knows that it helps distance her from the reality of it all, a tactic that she wouldn't necessarily advise but one that she understands, especially in the wake of the Extremis fiasco.

"I have one other thing I wanted to talk to you about." Pepper folds her hands on the table in front of her and leans forward— a posture that's intended to be dominating, which means that she expects Natasha to argue with her suggestion.

"What is it?" She keeps her tone neutral.

"I'd like it if we could get Bruce into the field."

Natasha's shaking her head before Pepper finishes her request. For the moment, she stifles her rush of aggression at the thought of Bruce getting involved in the violence and opts for a logical argument. "There's too much of a risk for collateral damage if Banner gets involved. I don't doubt that having the Hulk fighting beside us would reduce mission times, but there's no guarantee that we could get him under control once we've met our objective. We were barely able to when Bruce was shot last month."

Pepper sighs. "I've spoken to Steve about it. He agrees. He's going to break the news to Bruce tomorrow."

"Then why come to me at all? You have Captain America's approval."

There's a coldness to her voice that absolutely does not need to be there, and Pepper spots it.

"Steve wanted your 'okay'," she explains. "He knows that you and the Hulk aren't exactly pals."

Not exactly pals, sure, but he hasn't had a fixation on her since the first incident back on the helicarrier. Mostly the Hulk just ignores her, sparing her a glance every so often before hurrying away to smash something else. Natasha might even go so far as to say that she kind of likes the big guy, if only because Bruce would almost certainly be dead if it weren't for him. She's not sure what she would've done if that had happened.

"I'll back the idea," Natasha relents. "But only if Bruce is 100 percent behind it."

Pepper smiles grimly. "We'll just have to wait and see."

* * *

Bruce, as it turns out, has his own conditions: they have to find a way to contain him once the job is done, and they can only call out the Hulk as a last resort. If the Avengers can guarantee both of those things, then he'll consent to playing a more active role in their missions instead of just being on comms. He states his skepticism that they'll ever be able to fulfill the first requirement, which Stark (of fucking course) takes as a challenge.

Thus, production of Veronica is put on the forefront in the lab; whenever Natasha visits, there's always some schematic for it up on the screens. It also results in her lab trips being more frequent, because Bruce smiles less these days and has begun to avoid the team to the point that he doesn't even join in on dinners anymore. She eventually figures out that no, it isn't the team he's avoiding.

It's just her.

Natasha is… disappointed? Saddened? The word for it escapes her. She doesn't like feeling like she has to apologize for something she didn't do; it had been a collaboration between Pepper and Steve that caused the idea of using the Hulk to bloom. She reacts automatically, mapping out his altered routine in order to determine the best time to catch him. She has to give Bruce credit— he's good at making sure that he doesn't have a set pattern to anything he does, but eventually she finds out that he tends to have tea at the same time every afternoon, and manages to be one room over when he enters the kitchen at the allotted hour (three o' clock).

She slips into the kitchen and pulls out a second mug. Bruce jumps when she places it on the counter with a 'clunk'.

Bruce recovers quickly and nods a greeting, but his fumbling with the kettle proves that he's uneasy with her around. Natasha wonders how one confronts a friend about said friend pulling away from them; is the direct approach better? Or is it better to be subtle about these things?

Bruce is in the middle of pouring tea for them both when she says, "So…"

He spills a little. "Sorry," he says. "Um… yeah, so… Veronica's going well, if that's what you wanted to talk about."

Natasha rolls her eyes. She makes sure he can see it. His expression hardens a little bit, so Natasha puts on her best placid mask and stares him down until he looks at his own feet. He's not going to make her feel guilty about this when he's the one who's been avoiding her this whole time. And after that comment about her birthday, too— it really _did_ mean a lot.

Bruce isn't an idiot. He knows what this is about.

"Sorry," he mutters. "It was… it hasn't been the best week."

"It didn't occur to you that you can, in fact, talk to me about that?"

"You seemed busy," Bruce hedges.

That's bullshit, and they both know it. "Okay." Natasha breathes in, then out. She can handle this like a mature adult. "Okay. You don't have to explain anything to me. I just wanted to ask if it was alright if we maybe didn't avoid each other for a whole week until I have to corner you in the kitchen during your teatime."

"No— I mean, yes, it's—" Bruce runs a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. "I want to explain, Natasha. You deserve to know. You're probably my best friend right now, aside from Tony."

Natasha doesn't respond to that, apart from a light touch on the back of his hand.

Bruce grabs his mug and walks into the living room, staring out at the New York skyline. He glances back at her once, and waits until she's standing next to him to speak.

"I want something that I can't have," Bruce explains. Natasha appreciates his bluntness, and viciously suppresses her curiosity about what that something might be. "You— and it's not your fault, I promise— remind me of that. I thought maybe it would help to distance myself from you, a little. My mistake. It didn't really make anything better."

"Thanks for being honest with me."

Bruce gives her a rueful smile, taking a sip of his tea. "I'm not a very good friend."

Natasha shrugs; she's not really a great friend, either. It's still something that she's working on. One of the many things she swore to do after her file dump. It wouldn't hurt for her to work on her relationships with Steve, Maria, and Pepper more. She doesn't give herself time to think about why Bruce is easier for her to get along with.

They finish their tea in silence.

* * *

The moment Pepper picks up the phone, Natasha asks, "How do you ask someone on a date?"

Somehow, Pepper manages to convey cautiousness over the phone. "I'm pretty sure you should already know the answer to this question…"

Natasha scowls and switches ears. "Fine, let me rephrase: how do you ask someone— who has recently told you that you're one of their best friends— on a date without ruining your friendship if they say no?"

"You do realize there's no handbook for this, right?"

"Amazon has at least 20."

"Okay— first of all, don't get one of the Amazon books," Pepper says. "Natasha, are you alright?"

 _No, I'm considering asking Bruce on a date because I have these things called feelings that I don't know what to do with and Steve is not helping matters and Clint met Laura by literally falling out of the sky and almost breaking her collarbone—_

"I'm fine," she answers.

"Uh-huh."

How the hell does Pepper manage to sound exactly like Steve? Natasha doesn't go any further with that train of thought. "So I should just ask?"

"That's the best way to do it."

"Thanks," Natasha says. She's about to hang up, but then: "Oh, and I'll buy you lunch next week as payment."

* * *

Bruce and Tony field-test Veronica, and Tony almost dies.

Natasha does what a friend would do, and coaxes Bruce out of his shell of self-loathing. Tony is up and making terrible jokes about it a few days later, even asking when they're doing the next test. Bruce refuses to speak to him for a day after that, but relents the next morning when Stark starts pestering him about the performance of the boosters in the Hulkbuster's feet.

On the fourth evening after the disastrous test, Natasha shows herself into Bruce's apartment with a bottle of expensive vodka.

"There's a Bond marathon," she says, by way of invitation. "We can nitpick all of the spy inaccuracies."

Her little idea succeeds in distracting Bruce for a few hours; she even gets a laugh or two out of him when she goes on mock-rants about the merits of having an exploding pen and driving an Aston Martin. She can tell that he's a little bit tipsy by the time the marathon ends, but he seems to carry himself well while intoxicated.

This kind of night would have been perfect to ask him to dinner. It still is perfect. In fact—

"Thanks, Natasha," Bruce says. Unexpectedly, he leans forward and wraps his arms around her, drawing her into a hug that's awkward but welcome nonetheless. Natasha reciprocates, looking over his shoulder, and swallows.

"You're welcome."

* * *

IV.

The first thing Bruce is aware of is three tiny men pounding away at the inside of his skull.

At least, that's what his head feels like. It takes him a moment to remember that it isn't actually possible for there to be tiny men inside his skull. He opens his eyes to a darkened, cold room— complete with mold growing on the walls, no windows, and a heavy door that even Steve probably couldn't move. He takes a few breaths to keep himself calm.

"It's relatively safe."

He bites on his lip to keep from yelling, then turns his head to see who spoke. Natasha is huddled in a corner of the cell, her face obscured by the shadows. Her voice sounds rough with exhaustion and something else. She's still wearing her cat suit, which means that the two of them were on a mission when they were captured.

"Hydra?" he croaks out.

"Yep."

"How?"

"They got lucky." He can hear the scowl in her voice. "A group of them found the quinjet by accident. Gassed both of us— by some miracle, the Other Guy didn't have a reaction to it. I was able to stay awake long enough to take one of them down, but the rest of them were able to subdue me until I lost consciousness."

Bruce forces himself to sit up so that he's facing Natasha. "Any idea where we are?"

Natasha shrugs. "Somewhere in the Andes mountain range. It's cold enough for it, and it's close to the location of the base we were raiding. They must've had a secondary location squirreled away."

"How big is the likelihood of the others finding us?" Bruce asks.

"Not as big as I'd like, sadly. This facility is fairly primitive, so any electrical signals or radiation that indicates civilization is minimized. There's a chance that they didn't find our tracking patches until we already got here, but I'm not willing to bet my life on that."

Something about the way she says that has Bruce on edge. "Natasha," he says, scooting closer to her. She turns her head calmly to face him, revealing that one eye is shut and crusted with blood, and there's a jagged cut on the other side of her face. The smile that she tries to direct at him is brittle.

"You should see the other guy."

"Why did they—?"

"The usual." Natasha says it lightly, but Bruce can see her clenched fists. "Information on Steve, information on Tony, whether or not Thor has any weaknesses, blah blah blah. I told them a story about a monkey with magical properties in Nigeria. Judging by the shiner I got, they didn't buy it."

Bruce bites back any exclamations he has, knowing that Natasha won't appreciate them.

"You're going to have to play dead if they come back," she warns. "Move back over to where you were lying— behind the door, yeah— and be prepared to lie down in approximately the same position. It doesn't have to be exact; they don't have cameras around here. One of them would have to have photographic memory in order to remember that you were in a slightly different position before."

"What are you going to do?"

"Wear a mask."

"What?"

He can just barely make out her smile in the dark.

"Bruce, they're going to try to drag me out again. When they do, I'm going to fight these ones off. I need you with me on this— I need you to take one of their guns and cover my back. We're going to fight our way out of here. Or, at the very least, we're going to get to a part of the base that'll allow us to communicate with the Avengers. Then they can get their asses here."

There's a faster way out of this; Bruce knows it. And Natasha— Natasha hasn't suggested it because she's his friend. That thought hits him like a ton of bricks; he's been aware of that before, but the enormity of that has never really occurred to him until now. Natasha Romanoff is his friend, and is willing to risk her life because she's taking his 'last resort' policy seriously.

Maybe… maybe this should be a Code Green.

"Or," he says slowly, "you could let them take you to… wherever it is, and I'll come and get you."

"You're not comfortable with it."

Bruce bites back a sigh. "No, I'm not," he admits. "But I'm fairly certain that, as long as you don't shoot the Hulk, he'll be willing to go help you out. We know that he responds better when it's someone he knows, so we'll at least have that going for us."

In spite of his reassurances, all of the things that could go wrong are already running through his head: the Hulk could turn on Natasha, or he could accidentally swipe her into a wall, or… any number of disastrous effects. He's torn in two: between the prospect of hurting her himself, or between the prospect of her getting hurt because he decided to hide again.

"Hey."

He looks at her, because he's never heard her speak in that tone of voice before. Natasha scoots in his direction until their knees are touching. She reaches out with one hand and curls it around the back of his neck, forcing his eyes to meet hers. He doesn't think he's ever seen so much determination in one gaze before, and for some reason (in spite of their current situation), that calms him.

"Trust me on this," she says. "We aren't going to need a Code Green to get out of this one."

There is finality in her voice and grimness in the set of her shoulders. She's on her feet in the next moment, offering him a hand up, which he takes. He isn't sure how she plans on getting them out of this. He can't see how she can be so confident about fighting her way through an unknown number of Hydra soldiers, but his gut is telling him that she's right. She moves to one side of the door, gesturing for him to stand on the other side.

It doesn't take long. Apparently, Hydra sends someone to check on them every half an hour or so, and this group must really have underestimated them if they thought that they could hold the Black Widow.

Natasha moves like lightning. Her open palm smacks the gun out of the agent's hand. Her other hand grips the back of the man's head, bringing it down onto her knee. There is an audible crack that almost makes Bruce wince, but then he remembers his designated role in this and picks up the gun, careful to keep it pointed at the floor while Natasha disarms their unconscious captor. She takes three knives and a handgun for herself, and gives Bruce the remaining knife. She tells him to keep the gun he's already holding.

The rest of it seems like a blur to Bruce. Natasha moves single-mindedly through the base; he doesn't even get the chance to use the weapons she's given him. Every time they encounter another Hydra agent (or group of agents), it only takes her a few moments to tear into them. She gets more blood on herself in the process, and he can tell that the fighting is starting to take its toll on her injuries, but the way she moves— she's unstoppable.

A part of him admires that.

They encounter five agents near one of the exits. Natasha has run out of bullets by then, and moves sinuously around each around, knives flashing, until one of them turns his weapon on Bruce. In an instant she's in front of him, a small shudder going through her body, but a moment later she's flung one of her knives. It's buried in the man's throat, and he gurgles for a moment before collapsing.

Natasha doesn't wait for him to react to what just happened. She stumbles toward the door, shoving it open and revealing a stark landscape. The mountainside descends away from them, with little cover to keep them hidden from the Hydra agents. Natasha moves quietly along the side of the old castle, towards a part of the mountain that has a few more trees, and holds out a hand to keep Bruce from moving.

"One man, north tower," she mumbles. "Go."

They make it to the trees without further incident. Bruce can't seem to stop himself from glancing at Natasha every five seconds, but she keeps going with a rigid look on her face, gesturing for him to be silent when he does try to speak. It seems to take them an agonizingly long time to get themselves away from the base, and Bruce is counting the seconds until it's safe for him to check on her.

"Okay, good," Natasha says. "We're done."

She collapses.

* * *

Bruce is amazed that he was able to keep his head for as long as he did.

Considering that Natasha Romanoff passed out in front of him, however, he didn't have much of a choice but to stay calm. The last thing either of them needed was a Hulk-out, and besides, he knew logically that her survival was possible. He got to work as quickly as he could, cutting away part of the front of her cat suit. The bullet is lodged just under her left ribcage, and he couldn't really afford to just dig it out (the bleeding would almost certainly kill her). He's stopped the bleeding as best as he could.

Sometime around when the sun is setting, it occurs to him that the Avengers still have no idea where they are, and Natasha's breathing is shallow. That's when the panic really starts to settle in.

Bruce leans forward on his knees, taking deep breaths and willing himself to stop shaking. He can't afford to do this now; it's almost nighttime, and he still needs to do what he can to keep her alive.

They don't exactly have blankets with them. Normally, after a Hulk-out, Natasha would approach him with one, but he suspects that Hydra took it away when they were captured. He steadfastly refuses to think about what might happen if Natasha isn't breathing in the morning, and also refuses to think about the implications for his problematic crush on her when he curls himself around her, willing his body heat to keep her warm.

The night is even more dangerous; Hydra could be out and about, searching for them, but they can't afford to move with Natasha as injured as she is. There's lead in her gut, and she's already beaten from Hydra's interrogations, and what he wouldn't give to just lose control and go back there and make them _pay_ —

"Ow."

Bruce almost sits up, but now that Natasha's conscious again, she's started to shiver, so he keeps his arms wrapped around her.

"Ugh," she grumbles, shifting a bit. "Bastard got in a lucky shot."

"No moving," Bruce orders.

"Yeah." She sounds sleepy again. "Yeah, just—"

Without warning, she rolls onto her stomach and vomits. Bruce manages to lean away from it in time, but feels his stomach drop into his shoes when he sees the black bits mixed in.

Not good. She's bleeding somewhere from her stomach lining. If she doesn't get help soon, her internal organs will start to fester and fail. He grimaces, running through lists of possible solutions, when a very stupid (but the only plausible) idea comes to him.

"Like on your back," he instructs quickly. Natasha complies, shooting him a questioning look (he has no idea how she's able to be so coherent; she must be in agony). He takes out the knife that he didn't use, taking what's left of the first aid supplies from her belt and using them to sterilize it. The kit, thankfully, includes a needle and thread.

"There's a tear in your stomach lining," he warns her. "You're bleeding into your stomach. If I don't close that up, you could die in the next few hours, enhancements or no."

"Huh. So you did guess." She smiles crookedly. "Do it."

He doesn't ask 'Are you sure' because Natasha sounds like she's never been more sure about something in her life. He does, however, warn her just how much this is going to hurt.

"Might as well get it over with, then," she replies.

* * *

Clint leaves the room with an eye-roll, which Bruce assumes is a good sign.

"Go on," he says, jerking his head towards the door. "Maybe you can stop her from being a pain in my ass. Tell her to stop changing my ringtones, I don't care how bored she gets."

Bruce raises an eyebrow. "You seriously overestimate me if you think I can get Natasha to do anything."

Clint shrugs, but doesn't argue the point.

Natasha still doesn't look great, but she's at least sitting up and using a laptop (Bruce has no idea how she got ahold of one). She smiles at him when he enters the room, gesturing for him to sit on the chair that's been living next to her bed. She closes the laptop as he approaches, setting it on her bedside table.

"Clint wants you to stop changing his ringtones," Bruce says.

"I don't have anything else to do. Hacking into his phone is easy. He always thinks he's so clever with his passwords."

Bruce looks at her steadily. She stares back at him with a completely blank look on her face. He's forced to give up eventually.

"Can I ask you something?"

Natasha smirks. "Technically, you just did."

"Were you trying to prove something out there?"

Immediately, he can tell that his question is the wrong one. Natasha's gaze shifts to something faraway, one that he cannot for the life of him read. Suddenly she's not really looking at him anymore, but at something else that seems to be causing her pain. He fumbles for the words that will enable him to backtrack, but to his surprise she answers.

"I was proving that the only way you're Hulking-out is if you want to."

Bruce reels back a bit; that was _not_ the answer he was expecting. He stares at Natasha, once again taking in the injuries that litter her face and arms. That look is back, however— the one that she'd worn at the Hydra base, the one that said she was not going to stop until she'd completed her objective. Before, Bruce had been a bit afraid of that look for the sake of the look itself. Now, however, he's afraid of that look for Natasha's sake.

"I don't want this," he says, placing a hand on top of hers. "Natasha."

He could tell her what he does want— _everything_ he wants. And for a moment he is tempted, because right now he has Natasha's undivided attention, and something tells him that she would take him seriously no matter what he says.

Which is precisely why he can't say it.

"You're my friend," he says instead. "Equals, right? So I do get a say in this?"

And he could swear that, for a moment, her smile trembles.

* * *

V.

They have the scepter.

 _They have the fucking scepter._

Natasha could go up to the roof of Stark Tower and scream it for all of New York to hear, she's that elated. She won't, because she has a reputation as an emotionless robot to uphold, but hell, she wants to. And now Stark is talking about a party, and Clint is talking about life beyond Avenging, and—

It's the perfect opportunity.

Party. She'll be dressed up. With luck (and coaxing by Tony) Bruce will be dressed up as well. It's the perfect place for her to up the flirting a little bit, maybe sneak a dinner invitation in there. Today's Code Green worked phenomenally well, too, so hopefully he'll be in more of a celebratory mood.

Natasha is almost gleeful with her planning. She picks a dress that she knows will catch his eye. She styles her hair to the point of perfection. She stages herself behind the bar (he'll end up over here for a drink, given time). She tries not to feel like too much of a blushing idiot.

"Relax," Steve tells her. "He's going to go for it."

"No gossiping today, Rogers," Natasha shoots back. "Move along."

"Rude."

"Shut up, you can't even get drunk."

And so the party begins, and Natasha can barely keep the grin off of her face.

* * *

Then, three days later, her world either feels like it's been ripped apart or like nothing has really changed at all, and she's not sure which one is worse.

 _Should've asked him to dinner first,_ is all she seems capable of thinking.

* * *

+I.

Eight months, three weeks, and two days.

That's how long it takes before either one of them speak to each other again.

Bruce returns to the Avengers after seven months, when he began to hear the rumors about the team being split down the middle. He's surprised to see Natasha at Tony's side, of all places, but the two seem to have come to some sort of understanding since he left.

It's painfully awkward. They both have their reasons for avoiding one another; Natasha is peeved that he left, and Bruce is still baffled by her betrayal of his trust. _The only way you're Hulking-out is if you want to._

All bullshit, and it still hurts.

It's a bit similar to when he'd been avoiding her after realizing that his attraction to her had developed into fully-fledged feelings. She corners him one morning, when he's about to go on a groceries run for everyone. She's waiting for him in the lobby, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and looking younger than she usually does.

"What do you want?" he asks her. He can't stop the bitterness in his tone.

"I owe you an explanation."

Bruce isn't sure he wants to hear one, but he's aware that she didn't come out of their… whatever it was unscathed, so he wills himself to be patient.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I know… I know how it feels to have a choice taken away from you, and I made the conscious decision to do so anyway. Because I trust you, and the Other Guy. Because I knew that there would probably be civilians who would die if you weren't going to help us fight. Because I can't be what you want me to be— what I wanted to be, however briefly that was."

"What did you assume I wanted?" he asks, curiosity getting the better of his poker face.

"Someone who could walk away." Natasha smirks, and it's as bitter as he feels. "Someone who could let go of the things that I've done. I came to terms with the fact that I'm never going to make up for the lives I've taken, no matter how long I end up living because of…" She gestures vaguely at herself, referring to her enhancements. "But I have to keep trying. That's the one thing that I've had that's not death and destruction. I'm not letting it go."

Bruce opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. He's not sure how to tell her that that was never what he wanted from her— that her tenacity and her determination to do good has always been one of the things that he admires about her the most.

"I was an idiot," she continues. "I thought maybe I could make you see— what you have the potential to _do_ —"

"That's sort of the same speech that the military used to give about me, yeah," Bruce says before he can stop himself.

They both fall silent, looking away from each other, unsure of what to do.

"I guess we both misunderstood the other," Natasha admits after a moment, smiling ruefully. "And I thought I could have friends without destroying those, too."

Bruce's knees almost go weak. He's still not sure what their… relationship was, but now he has a confirmation that their friendship was very, very real. He finds himself laughing, unable to stop himself, and a moment later Natasha joins in until they're both hysterical, drawing looks from other employees in the facility.

"You and me both," he finally manages to choke out.

They're nowhere near okay yet, but—

"Before we… get too comfortable, again," Natasha says, "we should have a long talk about this. There's this little café in town, and I need to buy fruit anyway; would it bother you if I joined you on your shopping trip?"

No, Bruce thinks, as they fall into step with one another, like they were never apart. No, it doesn't bother him at all.


End file.
